When Petunia opened the door to her home to place the milk bottles outside, nothing had prepared her for what she saw; a baby boy, asleep in the basket, wrapped in a blanket that rang bells of recognition in the back of her mind. But before she could react or process any of it, she let out a scream of surprise. The scream woke the baby, and Petunia recoiled at the sight of the baby's eyes; she had grown up looking into those eyes.
But it couldn't possibly be. Why was there a baby on her doorstep? She could see a letter tucked into the basket, and she was filled with a sense of foreboding.
She looked back inside her house, hoping she hadn't woken her son and husband; she heard no movement, and briefly, was amused at how they were both heavy sleepers.
She knelt next to the basket, staring into the eyes of the little boy, her own eyes moistening. Her eyes went to the curious lightning scar on his forehead. The boy blinked at her, hand in his mouth. Her eyes went to the letter that dropped out of the boy's hand; it was addressed to her. She reached for the letter, starting to feel her palms sweat.
She opened the letter carefully, and the handwriting was also familiar, reminiscent of a rejection she had never been able to get over.
The little boy, as you might have already guessed, is Harry Potter, son of James and Lily Potter.
I bring the very unfortunate news of your sister's untimely demise. James and herself were killed by a dark wizard, Voldemort, who you may or may not have heard of while trying to defend their little son. The aforementioned wizard has now disappeared but I suspect his return.
I am aware of your falling out with your sister, but the boy's grandparents are dead and James was an only son; you're his only living relative. I implore you to take him in.
I will admit that taking the boy in might leave your family in certain peril, but if you do take the boy in, I will ensure that your home is protected with enchantments and ward your house against every danger that you could possibly be in.
Leave your answer in your mailbox, and I shall proceed accordingly.
Petunia read the letter several times to make sure she wasn't dreaming. She put the letter away and stared at Harry, who stared back at her unblinkingly.
Her eyes filled with tears.
Lily was gone.
Yes, they had not been on talking terms and she had shunned every attempt of Lily's at contacting her. But she had always thought that there would come a day when everything would be alright; that they would all dine at the same table, someday.
She gingerly picked Harry in her arms. The blanket evoked a sense of nostalgia, reminiscent of the first time her mother had let her hold baby Lily in that very blanket.
After much resistance, Petunia started to cry softly, mourning the loss of a sister she hadn't spoken to or seen in years, a sister who had tried to reach out but had been consistently snubbed; a sister with whom there was no more any scope of repairing a broken relationship with.
A/N: Well, it always bothered me that the characters of Petunia Dursley absolutely showed very little affection towards her dead sister or her son. I liked to think that despite her hate on the outside, she had a soft corner, somewhere. I know it is unlikely, out of character, whatever, but I had to do this for myself